


Dirty

by barfboy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: But Only in Allusion, Domestic Nudity, Every Keith I Write Is Secretly Galra Keith, Fluff, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gen, Like The Briefest and Most Vague of Mentions, M/M, Mentions of Members, Mentions of Unrequited Past Shiro/Keith, bad hygiene, boys being dumb, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barfboy/pseuds/barfboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith is a nasty dirty boy and Lance decides its his responsibility to clean him up.</p><p>(This is a gross domestic fluff fic about Keith's poor hygiene skills don't let the description fool you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this because I can't stand people always describing Keith as a pretty boy with soft charcoal hair when he's clearly the nasty greasy boy in your high school homeroom class that sits in the back of the room and wears the same outfit every day, and if ANYONE is a delicate boned beauty with tender skin and velvet locks it's obviously Lance.

“Dude.”

Lance had cornered him in a hallway.  Or well, cornered wasn’t exactly the right word.  Metaphorically attacked, maybe. 

“Keith.” 

As usual, Lance looked upset.  In fact, Keith couldn’t think of a single instance in which Lance had spoken to him and _not_ looked upset.  Ever. 

“Buddy.” 

Or maybe emotionally constipated was a better word to use.

“Pal.”

“Can you just,” Keith said.  “Get on with it.”

“Yeah, sure.  You smell like shit.”  After he said it, Lance looked unbelievably proud of himself, as though he’d just won an Olympic gold medal in professional insults.

Keith wrinkled his nose.  “Great.  Okay.”  He ducked away, intent on continuing to his room where he would maybe with a little luck actually be able to sleep that night.

“Whoa there, cowboy, hold on.”  Lance caught his arm.  “I don’t just mean you smell like shit right now from the fight, because obviously we all probably do.  I mean like, in general.  You generally always smell like shit.”

Keith stared at him.  “Are you done?”

“Not like, that it’s unbearable.  But dude, it’s definitely not great, either.  How often do you shower?”

“Often enough.” Keith bristled.  He was eighty percent sure Lance was just trying to fuck with him, but Keith really didn’t care if Lance thought he smelled bad.  They were on a ship in outer space fighting for their lives every other day.  What he smelled like did not matter.

Lance’s arm shot out and Keith flinched away from it, but not before Lance caught a chunk of his hair between two fingers and made a noise like he’d been burned.  “Keith you absolute _animal_ there’s enough grease in that mullet to start up a professional line of all organic body butter!”

Tentatively Keith touched his hair and said, “That’s just what it’s like.  Not all of us have the time to wash our hair in thirty different products before we get up in the morning, Lance.  Maybe you haven’t been paying attention, but we’re fighting a _war_ right now.”

The expression Lance wore was nothing short of horrified.  “Keith, buddy, that’s _exactly_ why I wash my hair with thirty different products every morning.  War is tough, man.  It’s hard, we do hard work.  You gotta learn how to treat yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” Keith said.  “Thanks.”

“No, no, no, no.” Despite everything in him that was screaming _run_ , Keith just stood there in the hallway as Lance slung an arm around his shoulders. “I’ve finally found something you’re terrible at.  I never thought it would be personal hygiene, but never let it be said that Lance Sanchez would pass up the chance to enlighten a fellow paladin about the pleasures of self-care.”

“Uh-,”

“Come on, we’re going to the baths,” Lance said and began towing Keith in a direction that was not the one Keith had originally intended to go.

“Baths?”

“You didn’t really think those en-suite bathrooms were the only ones in the castle did you?”

“I never really thought about it.”

Lance emitted some kind of gagging noise and said, “God you’re gross I can’t believe I’m standing this close to you.”

 

Against all of his better judgment, Keith let himself be dragged around the castle by Lance and into a wing he’d never broached before.  It wasn’t like he really had anything better to do, and it wasn’t like Keith actually thought he’d be able to sleep if he had just gone to his room like he’d planned.  But he was always suspicious of Lance and anything Lance wanted to do with him alone that did not involve the other paladins.  Not that he didn’t trust Lance, he trusted Lance with his _life_ – which was a statement he couldn’t believe he was making, even in the safety of his own mind, but it was true.  It was just that… Lance had a habit of being unpredictable.  Especially around Keith.  Especially _recently._

Half the time all Lance wanted to do was throw insults back and forth and pick fights.  The other half the time it seemed like… well, like he was trying to be friendly?  Or whatever approximation Lance considered friendly to be.  It usually came out to something awkward and self-serving or just socially painful, but regardless it left Keith confused and more often than not, annoyed.

But, all (or at least most) of these thoughts left his head as soon as they arrived at the aforementioned baths.  It was a colossal room, and Keith was hit with a wave of damp heat as soon as the door slid open and Lance shoved him inside.  The wall nearest him was lined with robes, towels, and bath clothes which Keith realized now must be where Lance actually _acquired_ all of those items in the past.   In front of him was a great pool lined with large glass pillars and small divots where stairs led down into the blue, steaming depths.  On one end was a literal waterfall and Keith stared at it for a moment, taking in the ridiculous extravagance and also wondering where all the water was coming from considering they were in _space_.  But he supposed a waterfall was the least weird thing he’d seen in this castle, considering everything else.

“Alright, mullet-boy, strip.”

“ _What_?” Keith turned around and immediately wished he hadn’t as he was instantly faced with Lance’s blatantly naked form.  “Holy _shit_!” He covered his eyes and spun on his heel. “ _What are you doing_?”

“Taking a bath, idiot.  You know what a bath is, right?  Are you going to get in, or what?”  Keith heard Lance riffling around behind him humming to himself as he examined the shelves upon shelves of what Keith assumed to be soaps which lined one entire wall of the room.  He didn’t have the emotional fortitude to look, or remove his hand from his face, though.

“Yeah, so, about that.  Listen, I think I’m just going to go, because-,”

“Oh, no you don’t.  I did not bring you into _my_ secret bath house so that your stinky ass could turn around and chicken out because you’re suddenly a never-nude.”  Keith heard Lance’s bare feet slapping against the tiles of the room as he walked past Keith and then there was a soft splash as something hit the water.  “Hope you like jasmine.  I’m pretty sure that’s what that was – anyway, _strip_ , dude, I’m not going to say it again!”  When Keith didn’t move Lance said, “Seriously, Keith.  Come on, man.”

And maybe it was the way Lance’s voice for once didn’t carry that ever obnoxious, grating lilt of superiority, or maybe it was because Keith really did need to clean himself up, but with a tortured sigh, he shed his jacket, and then he shed everything else, courageously ignoring Lance’s strip tease comment half-way through.

For a moment when he was finished Lance stood in front of him and just stared and Keith had to fight the heat threatening to spread from his ears to the rest of his face because… this wasn’t exactly how he had expected Lance to react when he’d been so flippant about his own nudity earlier, but then, as he always inevitably did, Lance opened his big, damn, mouth.

“Holy shit,” he said, jaw wide open.  “Am I _bigger_ than you?”  Lance looked positively elated and any hope Keith had of keeping a flush off his face was lost as his vision bled red and he covered himself with both hands.

“I swear to god, Lance, I will strangle you to death right here in this bath and tell Shiro that you drowned.”

“This is the best day of my life,” Lance cackled and then shrieked loudly when Keith body slammed him into the pool.  He stood at the edge of the tile, smirking as Lance burst out of the water sputtering and looking generally like a drowned rat.  But the smirk was wiped clean off his face when Lance sped forward, locked both hands behind one of Keith’s knees and pulled him toppling into the bath.

He found himself landing directly on top of Lance, both of them tangled in each other’s limbs and sinking.  Due to the nude and proximate nature of Lance’s body to Keith’s, Keith did the only real thing he could, which was kick at any part of Lance that was within reach.  His foot connected solidly with Lance’s stomach and though Keith’s head was only partially above water, he heard Lance make a breathless noise before drifting a good few meters away.

“ _¡Oye!_  Watch the goods, will you?  That was too close for comfort.”  Lance said, standing up and holding his stomach.  Blessedly, the pool was deep enough for the water to cover Lance’s waist.

“I don’t want anything to do with your goods, Lance.”

“Yeah well, same!” Lance said and then screwed his face up when he saw Keith’s raised eyebrow and smug smile.  “I meant about yours!  About your goods, Keith!  Not mine!”  Then he groaned loudly and sent a fairly impressive wave of water splashing towards Keith who, against all his best judgment, laughed.  “I knew I never should have let you into my sacred bath house.  You don’t deserve to be here.  You’re a mortal trespassing in the house of gods.  Just look at you!”  Suddenly Lance was very close, inspecting Keith’s face like it was some rare and hideous specimen at a dog show and Lance was the judge.  “When was the last time you _exfoliated_?”

“Exfoli-what?”

A pitiful noise came out of Lance’s mouth and he said, “Stay right here,” and hastily left the bath.  Keith watched him waddle over the wet tiles towards that looming wall across the room filled with Altean bath products of dubious natures.  Lance looked stupid tottering around like a flightless bird, but as he stood in front of a cluster of small jars grouped together on the product wall, Keith found him suddenly difficult to mock.

Lance was no Shiro and Keith knew it was wrong to try and compare them, but, well, he could hardly help it.  They were they only people on the ship he’d ever actually seen completely naked (as of today, anyway).  And where Shiro’s body was thick, muscled, and dangerous in its easy symmetrical allure, Lance’s was delicate and artistic.  Imperfect in a way that drew the eye from the curve of his spine to the hollow of his hips to the modest muscle of his thighs.  Lance was, Keith realized suddenly and with mounting horror, beautiful.

“I think this is the one,” Lance said suddenly turning around and Keith’s eyes skittered up to the high ceiling above them as Lance tip-toed back into the bath.  “You seem like a eucalyptus kind of guy.”

“Uh, sure.”  There was a splash and Keith heard the approaching ripples of Lance advancing on him.

“Put this on your face, and rub it in.”

“What?”  Finally, Keith’s eyes returned to their natural plane of gazing and he saw the jar of lumpy, pale green cream that Lance was trying desperately to hand to him.  “Is that?”

“It’s a salt scrub, Eighties John Stamos, just take some.  You’ve got like nineteen years’ worth of dead skin caked onto your face and I want to know what’s under there.  Make sure you get your T-zone extra good.”  Lance shook the jar emphatically in front of him and Keith scooped out a handful just to get him to stop.  “Wow that’s way too much.”

“I’m – wait, what’s a T-zone and who is Eighties John Stamos?”

“Holy shit,” Lance’s eyes went comically large and Keith shifted his footing impatiently.  “I can’t believe I thought this would be a good idea.”  He reached up and ran a finger over his forehead and down his nose and said in long, drawn out syllables.  “T… Zone…,” then, “I’m not even going to bother answering the John Stamos question.  Give me some of that.” Lance slapped his hand against Keith’s, removing about half of the salt scrub that Keith had grabbed and setting the jar down on the edge of the bath.  “Just do what I do, alright?” He said, and began rubbing the scrub into his cheeks.

It occurred to Keith that this was technically an alien substance and putting it on his face might not actually be the smartest thing in the world, but he figured if Lance was doing it, it probably wouldn’t _kill_ him.  So Keith spread the scrub across his finger tips and delicately applied it to his nose and forehead, praying that this wasn’t going to end up being a trap and Pidge and Hunk weren’t waiting with a camera in hand behind one of the pillars.

Nobody jumped out cackling and flashing pictures, though, and after about a minute of scrubbing Lance said, “Okay, that’s good.  Knowing you, you’ll probably try to get in a fight with the salt and scrub your skin raw.  Dunk, mullet!”

“What?”  But Keith didn’t have time to process the words before Lance’s hand was at the back of his neck, pushing his face forward into the water in time with Lance’s own.

When they came up Lance crowded into Keith’s space _again,_ smacking Keith’s hands away and saying, “Okay, let’s have a look.”  He took Keith’s face between his palms and Keith didn’t know if his skin was tingling more from the scrub or Lance’s warm palms on his cheeks, slowly tilting his head back and forth, but he wasn’t particularly interested in finding out.

Lance expelled a long hum and finally said, “Well you’re skin’s a little red, and you’ve got more clogged pores than there are humans on Earth, but considering you’ve literally never washed your face in your life, it could be worse.”

With a huff, Keith said, “I still don’t understand why I’m supposed to care about this.”

Lance let go of Keith’s cheeks with a squawk.  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.” 

Then he threw something at Keith that hit him in the shoulder and landed with a small _slap_ on the water.  It oozed soap suds and looked like the alien version of a loofah. 

“These things are awesome,” Lance said, pulling another one from the lip of the pool where an army of them apparently resided, lined up like bowling balls in some kind of hidden dispenser.  Then he turned to Keith with a smug expression.  “I’m assuming I don’t have to tell you how to wash yourself.”

With a derisive snort Keith sent a wave of water splashing toward Lance and said, “You wish,” before grabbing his loofah and exiting the bath to soap up.

They sat next to each other on the benches lining the wall that sported all of Lance’s bath clothes including but not limited to Lion themed slippers and personalized robes.  The loofah was made of a rougher material than Keith remembered any loofah he’d ever used back on earth being made out of.  It left his skin raw and sensitive, but not exactly in a bad way, and it smelled like some kind of sweet herb that Keith couldn’t place.  The scent was potent but not overwhelming, clinging to the air around them like a thin fog and leaving Keith with a warm pleasant feeling that pooled beneath his rib cage and bled slowly through his limbs.

When he was finished he stood, intending to re-enter the pool but Lance’s voice stopped him.  “Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

Turning his head to look back at Lance who was straddling the bench and washing one of his arms with the loofa, Keith said, “To rinse off?”

“You didn’t even wash your back!” Lance exclaimed.  “Get back here!”

“I can’t reach it!” Keith said frowning.

Lance reclined on the bench, leaning back on his palms and said, “Yeah, well that’s what I’m here for.”

Blessedly, Keith averted his eyes before he had the chance to see Lance wriggling his eyebrows.  “I-,” Keith groaned, knew that arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and turned back around to straddle the bench in front of Lance.  “Fine.”

The look on Lance’s face as he sat wasn’t encouraging, but he handed Lance his loofa and waited.  And waited.  And waited a little longer, until finally he looked back at Lance frowning and said, “Are you going to do it or what?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” then he snorted and said, “ _Yeah,_ Keith, jeez impatient, much?”  He continued muttering as the loofah finally touched down smack dab between Keith’s shoulders and Keith had to clench his teeth and ball his fists to keep from flinching away.  Not because it was unpleasant but because, well, it kind of tickled and Keith would fall on his own bayard before letting Lance know he was ticklish.

Lance continued babbling as he ran the loofah up and down Keith’s back, across his shoulders, along the dip of his spine, and after a while it stopped tickling and just started putting him to sleep which Keith really wished he would have realized before Lance had to stop and say, “Uh, dude can you sit up?  It’s kind of hard to reach while you’re lying face down on the bench like that.”

Keith was _not_ lying face down on the bench, but he pushed himself upright with both hands anyway and muttered, “Sorry, yeah,” then nearly fell _off_ the bench when Lance’s hand suddenly wrapped itself around his hip, holding him in place while his other hand ran its fingers over a patch of skin along his lower back.

“Dude, what is this?”

Keith breathed a quiet, shaking breath and then looked over his shoulder.  “Um,” he said and squinted to see what Lance was actually looking at.  “Oh, birthmark.  I’ve always had it.”

“It’s _purple_ ,” Lance said, still running his fingers back and forth over the mark like he couldn’t leave it alone.

“Yeah, it’s discoloration.”

With a groan, Lance’s hands finally abandoned Keith’s skin and the loofah returned. “That’s so awesome, god, I hate you.”

Keith snorted.  “The feeling’s mutual,” he said and stared down at his fists, curled against the pale wood of the bench.

When Lance was done Keith offered to repay the favor, because that only seemed fair and normal, especially considering Lance’s apparently obsessive hygienic tendencies, but Lance more or less short circuited when Keith actually asked if he wanted him to wash his back, and then he nearly tripped over the bench and fell flat on his face trying to turn around so Keith could do it.

In contrast to his constant chattering when washing Keith’s back, Lance was as silent as the grave while Keith scrubbed his skin with the loofah.  It was… awkward, but at the same time Keith couldn’t deny that he welcomed the silence.  The longer Lance talked the stupider he tended to get, so Keith was thankful to have a moment of peace.

He spent twice as much time washing Lance’s back as he would have his own because he figured whatever his standards for cleanliness were, Lance’s probably doubled or even tripled them.  Eventually he muttered, “That’s got to be good enough,” and then said louder, “You’re done.”

“’Kay,” Lance didn’t move for a few seconds, voice quiet in a way Keith had never heard before but guiltily wished to hear more often.  Then the moment was ruined as he stood swiftly, dismounting the bench and hauling Keith with him by the arm.  “Okay, Mr. Stamos, back in the pool.”

“Can you stop calling me that, I don’t even know who that is,” Keith barely finished his sentence before Lance had shoved him face first into the water and then galloped in after him.  It was incredible to Keith how Lance could be so graceful and still in one moment like the shadowed figures in old oil paintings, and then embarrass himself beyond reason the very next, sprinting around like an oversized new born gazelle.

After a short and highly competitive game of who-can-rinse-who-off-first via splashing contest, Lance hauled himself out of the pool again to grab more bottles off of the product wall.  He set a small collection of them down on the edge of the pool before jumping back in with a dangerous looking grin and outstretched arms.

“What are you doing,” Keith said, flinching away from Lance’s probing hands.

“Listen, pal, we’ve addressed and dealt with your body stink, but that mullet you call hair on your head still needs some TLC.  Now turn around.”

Keith watched him skeptically for a moment, then sighed and did as he was told, scooting sideways to sit cross legged on the under-water ledge by the edge of the bath.  “Just don’t do anything I’m going to have to make you regret later, alright?”

A wounded noise came out of Lance’s mouth.  “I can’t believe you don’t trust me, but since you’re so _concerned,_ I’ll have you know nothing is going into that mullet that I haven’t put on my own head many a time before.”

“Yeah,” Keith muttered, “That’s really encouraging.”

“Hey, this happens to be a special mixture I put together myself – and believe me, it’s not easy figuring out what all these weird Altean products actually _do_.  Also it smells a hell of a lot better than whatever crap the shower dispensers spit out.”

“Okay, whatever.” And then Lance’s hands were in his scalp, blunt nails scratching circles against his temples and the base of his neck, combing – sometimes painfully – through the strands of his hair.  Keith very nearly passed out.

“Holy shit, dude,” Lance said and when he didn’t elaborate Keith made an annoyed humming noise.  “One: can you stop trying to do a trust fall with me?  I know I’m talented but I can’t wash your hair _and_ carry you at the same time.”

Keith, who had _not_ been trying to do a trust fall, sat up jerkily and said, “I _wasn’t_ -,” only to be cut off by Lance.

“And two:  How much hair do you have?  This is insane.  I’m literally going to have to wash this mullet _twice_.  There’s so much and it’s _that_ greasy.”

“No it’s not,” Keith said, intending for the words to sound scorned and incredulous instead of how they did sound, which was apathetic and tired.  He groaned in irritation with his own self.

“Yikes.  Can you please not make sex noises while I’m trying to wash your hair?  Too far, dude.”

Keith felt his face spontaneously combust and vividly imagined flames engulfing his head as he elbowed Lance sharply in the ribs and tried to ignore how choked he sounded, “I _did not_ -,” But Lance cut him off again, cackling and slinging an arm around his neck as he dunked Keith under the water with him in a tangle of limbs.

When they came up gasping Lance said, “It was time to rinse anyway,” and just barely dodged a jab to his larynx.

Keith managed to survive the second hair washing and (despite great and lengthy protest) the conditioning as well, but it was a close thing and he purposefully did _not_ offer to wash Lance’s hair in return this time.  He had a feeling Lance wouldn’t have let him anyway, considering the way he was currently languishing in his own hair washing routine like it was some sort of religious experience.  Keith watched him from his seat in the pool, pushing his bangs back because the wet strands of his hair kept falling in his eyes, and _not_ so that he could more clearly see the curve of Lance’s lightly muscled back as he stretched his arms above his head to scrub suds across his scalp.

Lance did this _three_ more times with _three_ different products before coming up for air and Keith just waited, pretending to relax in the warmth of the water while side-eyeing him at every possible opportunity.  When Lance finally finished he sauntered through the water with obscene swagger, eyes closed, lips upturned, and said, “That’s how a master does it, Keith ol’ buddy.”

“Ah-huh.” Keith pretended to inspect his fingernails and smiled despite himself when he heard Lance’s strangled noise of agitation.  “What?” he asked, fully expecting to see Lance’s irritation written plainly on his face and _not_ Lance staring at him like he’d just laid eyes on the Goddess Aphrodite herself.  “ _What_?”

Lance’s mouth, which had been hanging open, snapped shut.  “N-nothing!  Your giant ugly forehead just caught me off guard!”

Keith frowned.  “Yeah well at least I don’t have to worry about my eyebrows flying off my face every time I make an expression.”

By way of demonstration, Lance’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, nostrils flaring.  “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh,” Keith crossed his arms and leaned forward.  “I think you know.”

“I don’t, actually!” Lance said, resting a pair of fists on his hips.  “I’m very confused!  What you said made no sense!” 

If possible, Lance’s eyebrows raised even further and Keith snorted.  Then, without any consent or approval on the part of his higher brain function, he laughed.

“Why are you _laughing_ at me!” Lance screeched which only prompted Keith to laugh harder, reaching blindly for the tiled edge of the bath to hold himself steady. “That’s it!” Keith heard rather than saw the resulting splash that came with Lance throwing his hands in the air.  “We’re done here.  I’m done.  It’s over.  Get out of the bath.”  Keith continued laughing, even as Lance walked past him and up the steps of the pool, but he managed to follow, laughter dying down by the time Lance threw something at him which turned out to be a personalized red robe with the words _Red Paladin_ embroidered across the left breast in golden thread.

“I’m not wearing this,” Keith said.

Lance shot him a devastated expression.  “You’ll wear it if you don’t want to walk back to your room in your birthday suit, because I already threw your clothes down the laundry chute.”

“ _What_?” Keith fisted the soft, fluffy fabric of the robe, and then slowly loosened his grip and said, “There’s a laundry chute?”

“Uh, yeah?  It goes to the laundry room?”

“There’s a laundry _room_?”

At this Lance made a pained sort of noise and muttered, “I can’t even think about what you asking me that question means.”  Then he stood up, fastening the belt of his robe haughtily.  “Come on, put that on it’s time to get some beauty rest.  We’ll stop by my room first.  I’ll get you a nighttime mask to keep your skin from drying out.”

Keith stuck his arms through the sleeves of his robe and pretended not to notice how soft and comfortable it was.  “I don’t know what that means but, sure.  Fine.”

 

The hallways leading back to their rooms had dimmed during their time in the bath.  It was a feature of the lighting systems that Pidge had helped Coran implement once they’d all officially moved into the castle.  The schedule ran on one similar to earth and it left enough light to see by, but if you had to run to the kitchen for a midnight snack (or more often in Keith’s case, the training room for a midnight fight), you didn’t end up blinding yourself the minute you stepped out of your room. 

In a strange sort of way, Keith found the dimmed lights comforting.  They reminded him of the lamplight he used to use to study by late at night in the garrison, sometimes alone, sometimes with Shiro reclining on his bed listing off terms and theories for Keith to define.

Once they reached Lance’s room, Keith waited for Lance to dig something out of his en-suite bathroom which ended up being a small jar of green goop that Lance was actually telling him to cover his face with for fifteen to twenty minutes every night before bed.  Keith promised to do it, just so Lance would calm down after his first declination, but he was very sure the jar would only sit on his bathroom sink for weeks before he eventually threw it out.

As Lance was saying good night and preparing to slip into his room, Keith caught him by the sleeve of his robe. “Hey, Lance,” he said and then swallowed something that felt distinctly like pride. “Thanks… for this.  I thought it was stupid at first but… It was actually kind of nice.”

Like the rising sun on Earth’s long lost horizon, Lance’s face began to glow in time with the smile spreading across it.  “Yeah?” He leaned his hip against the doorway of his room.  “Well, to be totally honest I just wanted to see how good I could get you to look when you weren’t stinking like six week old garbage.  As usual I was right and you’re beautiful, so-,” the smile fell from Lance’s face as he seemed to realize what he’d said and he stood up straight, looking suddenly very pale.  “I mean, um.  Whatever! Good night, John Stamos, I hate you!” And then suddenly Keith found himself face to face with the solid metal door of Lance’s bedroom, cheeks hot and heart in his throat.

“Hey!” Keith was on autopilot by the time his fist banged on Lance’s door.  “What the _hell_!  Open up!”

“I’m sleeping!  I’m asleep!” was Lance’s muffled reply.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Keith yelled through the door and it instantly flew open to reveal Lance’s panicked face and a pair of hands smothering his nose and mouth.

“Shut up, shut up!  No!  I don’t!  I think you’re ugly and weird and you smell bad!”

Two doors down the hallway a body emerged from its room and Keith and Lance both turned their heads to see Shiro standing in the hall wearing a tired expression and a pair of sweatpants that read _VOLTRON_ on the side.  Keith narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously.  “Hey, I know you guys are bonding or – something, but could you keep it down?  You might wake up the others.”

“S-smrry,” Keith mumbled through Lance’s fingers at the same time that Lance himself said, “Sorry, Dad.”

Shiro looked unimpressed with both answers but his gaze was leveled at Lance in particular.  “Okay.  Just try and be a little quieter.  And Lance, please don’t call me that.  We’re both adults.”  Then Shiro disappeared into his room as quickly as he’d appeared and Lance and Keith were left to stare at each other in the dim, night time lighting of the hallway.

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Keith asked again, this time much quieter.

Lance’s face screwed itself up into an expression that Keith felt was distinctly unflattering and he hissed, “No!”

“Even though you literally said less than a minute ago that I was beautiful.”

“That’s not what I said!  I said – I said – something else!  This conversation is over.  I’m going to bed.”  Lance turned to leave but Keith caught him by the lapels of his robe and didn’t really have a lot of time to think about the consequences of his actions before tilting his head and yanking Lance into a kiss.

Keith felt more than heard Lance making some kind of horrified noise so he figured maybe he’d miscalculated and pulled away, loosening his grip such that Lane could escape if that’s what he wanted, but instead Lance said, “Wait, wait, wait, wait,” and chased after him, backing him into the wall and placing two open palms on either side of Keith’s face as he leaned into a second kiss, warmer and longer by far than the first.

Keith didn’t have a lot of experience with kissing.  He had kissed Shiro once and that had turned out horribly, and he’d also kissed a girl in fifth grade on the playground because she dared him to and said that if he didn’t he’d be branded a coward for all of eternity which was pretty much a sure fire way to get Keith to do anything at age ten.  But besides those two incidents, Keith had no idea what he was doing and as a result, he didn’t really know if _Lance_ knew what he was doing either, although he seemed to be desperately trying to take the lead.

At the end of the day, Keith supposed it didn’t really matter.  He wasn’t going to let Lance out kiss him, so he pushed forward, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of the robe covering Lance’s hips and relishing the noise that escaped Lance’s mouth and went straight into his.

For a brief moment, Lance broke away, breath hot and heavy across Keith’s lips when he spoke in a rush, “Oh god, I can’t believe this is happening, also you smell really good, also when was the last time you brushed your teeth?”  

At this, Keith reared back, watching Lance with narrow eyes as he said slowly, “This morning?”

Lance’s face fell.  “Keith!” He whispered.  “You’re supposed to brush after every meal!”  Then he dragged a hand down his face and said, “I can’t do this.  I can’t kiss you like this.  You-you need to go brush your teeth and then come back.”

Keith shoved him in the chest hard enough to send Lance stumbling backwards.  “That’s ridiculous!  You brush in the morning and at night.  You don’t have to brush in the middle of the day, too!”

“No, after _every_ meal!” Lance made a chopping motion with his hand as though this would somehow better communicate his meaning.

“Even snacks?”

“Yes, even snacks!  What kind of question is that?”

For a short while they stared at each other until Keith said.  “I’m going to bed.”

“No, no, no, wait!” Lance’s arm shot out, clamping down on Keith’s shoulder and spinning him around before he could leave.  Keith let himself be held there for a moment while Lance stared at the ceiling and muttered as though in prayer, “I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” before suddenly swooping in and kissing Keith one last time, arms around his neck and chests pressed flush against each other.

This, Keith decided, was by far the best of their three kisses and when Lance finally let go of him with an impressive squeeze for someone whose arms had effectively the same muscle mass as a limp noodle, Keith’s disappointment was palpable.

“Okay.  Alright.  Bye.  Goodnight Mullet-Boy.” Lance said practically dancing his way across the hall.

“Hey!” Keith called as Lance’s bedroom door opened.  “Don’t try to pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow!  We _bonded_!” He pointed a severe finger at Lance as he slithered through his door way, laughing somewhat nervously and saying, “Yeah sure, okay!” as the door slid shut.

Keith stood in the hallway for several minutes before he managed to talk his legs into walking the three yards back to his own room.  He found that when he arrived there, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.  He did, however, forget to put on Lance’s face mask.  But whatever.  It’s not like Lance would notice anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wrote this fic to take a break from the last chapter of my Sheith fic which is HEAVY. That is to say, your irregularly scheduled updating on that fic will continue tomorrow (or probably the day after tomorrow).


End file.
